


the power you're supplying.

by redhoods



Series: fictober 2019. [5]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Castlevania AU, M/M, vampire ferdinand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 10:43:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20928917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoods/pseuds/redhoods
Summary: “Can you tell me that you aren’t truly hungry?”Ferdinand opens his mouth, like he’s formulating his answer, then closes it back once more. The exhale he releases is heavy, weighted, and his gaze turns down to his hands, “No, I suppose I can’t.”Hubert hums, “That’s what I thought.” It comes out smarmier than he means, so he barrels on, “Why haven’t you fed?”





	the power you're supplying.

**Author's Note:**

> fictober day 6 was blood and castlevania is coming back at some point and... ferdinand and alucard, i mean. it's right there.
> 
> the title of this is from you're the one that i want. but like the lo-fang version. [listen to it](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jYluMAO1b7Y), it's got heavy vamp vibes.

The fire crackles gently, throwing flickering shadows across the planes of their faces, over the trees surrounding them. If Dorothea didn’t know about the things that lingered in the forest, the things that were hunting them, she might be creeped out.

As it is, there are demons hounding them and to her left sits a vampire.

Half vampire.

It’s all semantics to her.

Ferdinand seems a million miles away though, eyes fixated on the fire, his orange hair nearly glowing to match the small blaze. The lines of his face seem sharper too, he looks gaunt and pale. Unhealthy. She turns her gaze to Hubert, finds his gaze is likewise on Ferdinand. Well, she’ll have to give this to Hubert. As much of an incompetent lark as he’d seemed to be at the beginning, away from alcohol, he seems to be sharpening up.

“What are you staring at, von Vestra?” Ferdinand snaps suddenly, not looking away from the fire.

Hubert opens his mouth and Dorothea knows what’s coming, so she stands before he can speak, “I’m sleeping in the cart tonight,” she declares, doesn’t give either of them a chance to respond as she stalks over and lifts herself into the cart.

It’s not soundproof by any means, she’ll still have to listen to them, but at least she won’t have to look at them or deal with the fact that they seem to forget she’s there sometimes.

\-----

He doesn’t take his eyes off of Ferdinand, but he does wait for Dorothea to climb up into the cart at least, “You look like shit, von Aegir.”

It’s cruel maybe, to press that name, especially with the way that Ferdinand flinches like he’s been struck. His eyes finally leave the fire though and that’s progress Hubert is willing to take at this point. Ferdinand curls a lip at him, though there’s no fang flashed at him. That’s something about Ferdinand that he can’t help but admire, his ironclad self control.

“Ferdinand.”

Hubert blinks at him, “Excuse me.”

“Call me Ferdinand,” he says, voice flat. Ferdinand’s piercing gaze stays where it is though, locked on him now.

Meeting his gaze, Hubert inclines his head, “If I’m to call you that, then perhaps you should return the favor. It’s only polite afterall.” He’s issuing a challenge of sorts here, while simultaneously trying to wave a white flag, It might even work.

It makes Ferdinand narrow his eyes, like he’s trying to discern if this is a jest or perhaps a taunt, but his face smooths out once more, gaze drifting back to the fire, “Very well, Hubert.”

And oh, he certainly didn’t think that one fully through.

But he’d had a reason for striking up this conversation and he won’t be dissuaded from it quite so easily. He inhales, forces his gaze to the flames, but they slide right back to Ferdinand unbidden anyways, “When was the last time you ate?” He wants to add ‘Ferdinand’ to the end of it so badly, turn the question snide, maybe mocking, but his concern is real as is his curiosity.

“You needn’t worry about that,” Ferdinand says, “I won’t go on a rampage tearing villagers apart by the throats.” It’s crass to hear it from Ferdinand, as if Hubert weren’t the one to snear it at him the first time they’d met.

The fact that Ferdinand has retained his words though.

He’ll worry about that later, one thing at a time. This will be an uphill battle all its own, one that he’s realizing is mostly his own doing. Tracing the line of Ferdinand’s nose with his gaze, he exhales, “You look hungry, Ferdinand,” he tries for something caring, tries to emulate the way Dorothea manages to talk to people in the villages they stop in, “How long has it been?”

Hubert doesn’t think he’s successful, but Ferdinand turns to him regardless.

“Why are you so concerned with my eating habits?” Ferdinand’s voice lilts, colored with something that seems like genuine curiosity.

There are many answers that come to his mind, though he’s not sure which to use. They all need to be at their full strength, they can’t risk Ferdinand getting distracted by his hunger, that he might be genuinely concerned for the way Ferdinand seems to be, well, withering is the best word he can think of.

“Can you tell me that you aren’t truly hungry?”

Ferdinand opens his mouth, like he’s formulating his answer, then closes it back once more. The exhale he releases is heavy, weighted, and his gaze turns down to his hands, “No, I suppose I can’t.”

Hubert hums, “That’s what I thought.” It comes out smarmier than he means, so he barrels on, “Why haven’t you fed?”

“Ha,” Ferdinand actually deadpans the sound somehow and that’s how Hubert knows they’ve spent far too much time together, “And give you the excuse to end my existence?”

That’s not—

“You’re not eating because of me?”

That gets him an all too familiar scoff and Hubert curls his hands into fists, wonders if this is what it’s like conversing with himself. “Don’t worry, I can sustain myself without feeding for far longer than you might suspect,” Ferdinand tells him.

Hubert opens his mouth to counter him and what comes out is, “It is already too late for that.”

Ferdinand blinks at him and Hubert can feel his face warming, but refuses to look away. “I did not realize,” he says, quiet, eyes luminous in the firelight as he stares at him, through him maybe.

“Well, it would do us no good if you fainted simply walking to the next village,” Hubert bites out and is mortified to find that all his heat and snark seem to have abandoned him when he needs them most. He feels too seen in his concern.

“Well, if that is the case,” but Ferdinand has the ghost of a smile curling at his lips and there may be no going back from this, “I will be sure to find myself an appropriate meal when the opportunity arises.”

“Or,” Hubert says, once again, before his brain gives input.

He has a sudden desperate yearning for his flask.

Ferdinand stares at him, one eyebrow arching, question asked but not verbalized. Issuing a challenge of his own, perhaps?

There’s no unringing the bell though, no taking the word back, he’s said it, it’s out there. He swallows, straightens, squares his shoulders, “Or you could take from me,” he offers, preparing himself to be laughed at maybe, to be turned away firmly, he’s not sure which, but he’s bracing himself.

No response comes, not for several minutes. He merely finds himself the subject of Ferdinand’s intense scrutiny.

Then Ferdinand nods, just one sharp bob of his chin, “Alright.”

“Alright?”

Ferdinand laughs and it’s warm, but hollow. Not amused, but resigned, like—

Hubert stands abruptly, “Where would be easiest?” He asks as he undoes the fasten for his cloak and pulls it off, draping it over the log he’d just been sitting on. That makes Ferdinand pause, mouth falling open, unseemly but alluringly attractive somehow, his lower lip is very full.

When no answer is forthcoming, he bites on one of the fingers of his glove and starts tugging, releasing it once it’s almost off, “A wrist would be easier, would it not? Certainly more comfortable than my throat?” He tucks the glove into one of his pockets and unbuttons his cuff. It won’t be the first time that Ferdinand has seen his scars, but it will be the first time up close and he can only hope that he’ll be too distracted feeding to pay any mind.

“You are serious?” Ferdinand blurts suddenly, face going an interesting shade of scarlet. There’s a strange crunching sound and Hubert realizes with some note of incredulity that Ferdinand’s gripped the log he’s sitting on so tightly that it’s splintered into his hands.

They both stare at the broken pieces of wood for several long seconds before Ferdinand huffs out an embarrassed sound and brushes his palms off on his thighs.

Hubert has to look away.

“Your wrist would probably be most comfortable for us both,” Ferdinand says quietly, after many more seconds of silence, and when he looks, Ferdinand is staring back at him, lips parted around his fangs.

He swallows and nods, carefully lowers himself onto the log next to Ferdinand, though he’s a little concerned for its structural integrity any longer, “Take what you need,” he instructs, voice hushed. This feels clandestine and it’s against every thing he’s ever learned in his life as he offers his arm out to Ferdinand, palm and wrist turned up.

It’s easy to forget that Ferdinand’s delicate appearance is a deception, but as Ferdinand’s hands clasps around his wrist and forearm, Hubert is very aware of it. Very aware of the strength and power that Ferdinand conceals.

“It will hurt, initially,” Ferdinand warns and doesn’t give him a chance to tense up, immediately sinks his fangs into the tender skin of his wrist.

It does hurt, right in the beginning.

Far from the worst thing Hubert’s ever felt in his life, but he still finds himself gritting his teeth against it, for all the longer it lasts. The pain fades into an almost drowsy thrum through his body. He doesn’t know how to describe it, anymore than he knows how to describe the feeling of the blood being pulled from his wrist.

He’s hyper aware of all of it, but more so of how he seems to have unconsciously tilted against Ferdinand on the log. Ferdinand smells nice, he realizes with the sort of detachment he feels about anything in the moments before he drifts to sleep.

Time slip slides from him, nothing to disturb his quiet headspace but the occasionally shuffling of wildlife in the forest surrounding them.

“Hubert,” Ferdinand is touching his leg when he blinks, but withdraws when Hubert sits himself back up, face burning when he realizes he’d been using Ferdinand’s shoulder for a pillow. “Are you all right? I tried not to take too much.”

Swallowing, Hubert looks at his wrists, the two perfect puncture marks there, and nods as he rolls his sleeve back down, “I am fine. Are you?” His fingers won’t cooperate as he tries to rebutton his cuff.

Ferdinand touches his wrist, feather light, then takes over buttoning the cuff, even goes so far as straightening his sleeve out, “I am... better.”

“Good,” he retrieves his glove and pulls it on, flexing his fingers against the material of them.

Finally, he lifts his gaze.

Ferdinand looks better, warmer somehow. Color has returned to his features, making him look more human. Less ethereal, less glowing, but no less striking, no less beautiful. And apparently, whatever invisible wall had existed between them no longer does, because Ferdinand touches him again, this time a hand to his arm, “Thank you, Hubert.”

“Ah,” Hubert says and everything else sticks in his throat.

It seems not to matter to Ferdinand, who offers him a bright smile and withdraws his hand once more.

“Will you two please go to sleep now?” Dorothea is leaning out of the cart when he looks, looking as put together as she had when she’d gotten in there, “You can continue flirting and whatever it is this is in the morning.”

She doesn’t wait for either of them to answer, which Hubert thinks is a kindness.

“She is right,” Ferdinand declares suddenly and lurches up right, “We have a lot of ground to cover tomorrow.”

And if the rest of the night hadn’t felt like a bizarre dream, it certainly does when Ferdinand turns to him, bends down and brushes his lips right across the apple of his cheek. Hubert watches in a daze as Ferdinand turns and pointedly doesn’t look back at him as he prepares his bedroll for the night.

He waits until Ferdinand is settled down in his bedroll before he begins his own preparations for the night and if happens to end the night with his fingers to that spot on his cheek, that’s between him and the moon.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm @vowofenmity on twitter.


End file.
